


tell me how you love me

by acheryx



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internal Conflict, M/M, Pining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:15:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27508951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acheryx/pseuds/acheryx
Summary: can't believe i wrote dnf
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 121





	1. in the absence of the sun, you are my light

**Author's Note:**

> unfinished LMAO

He drove for a few hours south, directionless and lonely. After a while he found himself unconsciously heading toward the beach, windows down and playlist loud on shuffle. He only realized he’d forgotten his phone at home when he pulled into the parking lot, but decided it was for the best. He didn’t know if he could deal with Twitter or George’s and Sapnap’s inevitable calls. 

He kicked off his flip flops when he reached the sand and slipped his glasses on, shoving his toes in the sun-warmed sand. It was dusk, and the waves glittered gold in the dying light, like little stars. He stood at the edge of the water for a second before sitting right on the sand, knees pulled up to his chest and the voice in his head laughing at him. 

He stared at the horizon and finally acknowledged the two things he knew.

One, he was in love with George. 

There was no anger or sadness inside him, only deep loneliness and resignation. George was such an important, stable part of his life that it was no question—they’d been friends for half a decade, and he’d been toeing the line between friendship and love for far too long. He knew he wasn’t straight—most likely bisexual or pansexual, but he didn’t want to put a label on his sexuality. He wasn’t surprised in the slightest.

Two, George wasn’t in love with him.

There was also no question about that. The voice that would always mock him and torture him at every step was quiet, because it didn’t need to do anything anymore—he was as broken as he could be right now. He loved George, and George didn’t love him back. George had said himself to be straight, and he never gave any indication that he would even feel anything toward Dream other than platonic friendship. Plus he had pretty Twitch girls who flirted with him. He didn’t need Dream, and soon he wouldn’t want him.

His eyes burned as they slid from the horizon to his hands, and as the wave crashed at his legs, he noticed a small, smooth stone. Absentmindedly, he picked it up and turned it over in one hand, admiring the flawless face of it, the matte gray dusted with silver. He wished, for a heartbeat and a lifetime, that the ocean could take him away too, grind down his imperfections and flaws and everything wrong with him until maybe, after an eternity, he could be spat back out as something correct, molded into someone people would accept.

Into someone George could love.

* * *

Loneliness was a familiar feeling for Dream. 

His friends were few and far between, existing only online, across several states, or an ocean. His school friends had drifted apart after sophomore year when he’d taken online classes, and his “job” didn’t exactly open opportunities to meet people. He strayed away from clubs and parties, preferring to be alone rather than stuck in sweaty groups of people dancing to too-loud music. He had no idea how to make friends, and honestly wanted no other ones.

He was fine being a voice to George and Sapnap. He didn’t need to show his face to become their friends, even though Sapnap has seen him before. He didn’t even want to see his own face, let alone subject his friends to it.

Maybe it was the stress, or embarrassment, but Dream found himself dreadfully alone suddenly. A lump welled in his throat and he desperately wished for someone to touch him, whether it be a high five or a hug. His chest almost physically hurt at the feeling but he shoved down the feelings. It was silly to want love from someone who didn’t love him.

With a sting in his eyes he got up from the sand, slipping that smooth rock into his palm and rubbing his thumb over the top as he walked back. He had no idea how long he’d been on the beach, but there were still smears of pink and purple in the sky. He unlocked his car and sat heavily in the seat, forehead resting against the steering wheel and hands in his lap. Again he stared at the rock, and barely noticed when a few of his tears hit the surface of it.

In silence he started his car, a song automatically playing, and pulled out of the lot. The voice sang about letting people down, and he muted it, tears welling up in his eyes. He didn’t need any reminders about George.

The drive back was quiet and dark without the radio on. His vision was blurry at best, and during the hour or so drive it took him to get back, he ran a quarter dozen lights and strayed over the lines multiple times.

By the time he pulled into the parking lot, his tears had dried and he felt hollowed out on the inside, blank and devoid of any emotion. He almost wanted to just...leave, and never come back. Nausea rose inside him as he waited for the elevator to rise. He tossed his keys onto the counter inside and filled up a glass with water, both hoping to quell his sickness and not wanting to face his friends. 

The water felt slimy in his throat, and he dumped the rest down the sink, feeling just as sick as he had before. He made his way to his room, catching sight of the time on a clock—nearly 10 pm. His stomach sank. Nearly five hours since he’d left, and over eight since he’d started ignoring his friends.

Cautiously, like there would be some great terror inside, he pushed his bedroom door open. His eyes went right to his monitors, and his phone on the desk beside them. Patches was curled up on his pillow, asleep, and the curtains were half open, letting in streetlight. He carefully ignored his computer and went to close the curtain instead, giving Patches a stroke as he went by. She gave a half-hearted purr, as if even she couldn’t be bothered to love him.

His chin trembled as he sat at his desk, shaking the mouse to wake the screen. In the moments it took to load up, he tapped his phone screen to see what his friends had said.  
_  
2:22 pm — Sapnap: Dude why is George asking me where u are_

_2:24 pm — Sapnap: I texted u like 20 minutes ago answer him_

_2:51 pm — Sapnap: Dream_

_2:51 pm — Sapnap: Answer him_

_3:03 pm — George <3: hey_

_3:03 pm — George <3: call me back wtf_

_3:12 pm — George <3: dream??? are you ok_

_3:13 pm — George <3: dream!!_

_3:13 pm — George <3: DREAM_

_3:42 pm — Sapnap: Dream call him back jesus_

_4:34 pm — Sapnap: Is this about the twitter thing? Are you mad?_

_4:35 pm — Sapnap: Are u ok_

_5:23 pm — George <3: clay_

_5:23 pm — George <3: clay_

_5:23 pm — George <3: clayyyy_

_5:53 pm — Sapnap: Please tell me ur okay_

_6:12 pm — Sapnap: Dude George freaked are u ok?_

_6:15 pm — George <3: are you dead?? answer my calls_

_6:37 pm — Sapnap: Dude I know ur not dead but George has got me worried_

_7:35 pm — George <3: please _

_8:54 pm — Sapnap: Clay. Call me now.  
_  
That had been an hour ago, the most recent message. He had four missed calls from Sapnap, and seven from George. He placed his phone down carefully on his desk, a deep sense of regret filling his chest, and got his headphones on. Teamspeak was open, and he saw that both George and Sapnap were in a call, muted. He joined.

“Hi,” he said.

At once they both unmuted. “Jesus _fuck_ , Dream,” Sapnap cursed. There was a loud slam from his end, and Dream flinched in his seat. “Where the hell were you? Dammit, you were gone for hours!”

“I…I’m sorry, I thought—” he muttered, voice breaking. 

“No, you weren’t thinking, Dream, what the hell? Why didn’t you take your phone?” Sapnap yelled. Sapnap’s anger lashed into him like a physical whip.

“It was just a few hours,” he said weakly. His chest hurt, like a weight on his sternum.

“That’s no excuse!” Sapnap exclaimed. “I’ve known you for a decade, and you always respond within half an hour at least. What the fuck, man. Get your shit together.” 

Dream didn’t even know what to say. His breath seemed stuck in his throat. “I—um, yeah.” He swallowed audibly. “S-sorry…”

How pathetic was he? He couldn’t even explain where he had been to his friend who rightfully wanted to know.

George, who had been silent so far, spoke up in a flat voice. “Dream? Why didn’t you respond?”

He looked at George’s icon on his monitor, anxiety filling him. “I was…at the beach,” he muttered. 

There was a long silence. “...And?” George questioned.

Dream wrung his hands. “...I left my phone here?”

George’s silence was like an arrow to his heart, and his next words were the executioner’s axe resting on his neck. “Sapnap told me you got mad at my interactions on Twitter.”

There was a long silence, in which he hated himself even more. “No, I was just—I just thought, maybe you—like, um, I was…I wasn’t mad,” he stuttered. “I was—I wasn’t—not mad.”

“Dream—Clay—are you…okay?” George asked, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“Y—yeah! Of…um, of course.” He swallowed. Sapnap’s anger was a fire around him, flames licking up his body, but George’s was a tightening collar, choking him and cutting off his words. He had no idea how to respond to either, and could feel the anxiety roiling in his chest.

“Really? You sound like you’re about to cry.”

The way George said it, the emotionless tone, the simplicity of it all—his breath caught and his mouth opened and closed multiple times, looking for words to defend him, to apologize, to beg. He came up with nothing.

Sapnap spoke again. “Dream? Are you there?”

“...Yeah.” His voice cracked. He could feel Sapnap’s fire through the call. 

Sapnap scoffed. “Well, you and George can talk it out. I’m done waiting.” A robotic voice said _Buddy has left your channel._

Now he was alone with George, both of them silent. He wanted to sink into a void and disappear. 

“Dream—”

“I—”

They spoke at the same time, and both cut off. 

“Dream, we were worried about you,” George said after a minute, anger dissipated. “We—I thought you were dead.”

And now that he focused, he could hear George’s voice, weak as his own. He wanted to cry at George’s emotions. He wasn’t as vulnerable or open about his feelings as Dream was—Dream had openly spoken about his fears on stream, talked about his lowest points publicly. 

“I…I know. I’m sorry.”

“Is that it? Is that all you have to say? I’m sorry, that’s it?”

George’s accusations made his back stiffen. His room felt awfully cold suddenly.

What else could he say? _I love you, but I know you hate me, so I kinda want to die? No, I wasn’t jealous of you and that girl, it’s just that the thought of you with someone else makes my heart hurt?_ He couldn’t even explain himself properly.

“Dream? Can you hear me?”

He looked back up at his screen, George’s icon lighting up as he spoke. 

He wanted to leave, to get back in his car and drive back to the beach and sit in the water, let the ocean take him away. His friends hated him, his family ignored him, his fans didn’t care about him. He had never felt more alone in the world.

“Dream.” George’s voice, again, this time angrier. Of course he was angry. He had every right to be. But now, his anger just passed through Dream, like mist. He didn’t even want to hear George. He already knew he’d fucked up; had most likely ruined their friendship. 

After this, neither Sapnap nor George would want to speak to him again, and he would stop making videos because no one liked him, they only watched for his friends. He would become a nobody, nothing, and no one would even spare a thought about him, because no one cared. He bet even now no one cared. He could just dissolve into nothingness, decay into nature, and no one would even bother to inquire his whereabouts.

His computer had gone to sleep in his absence, and he watched his reflection on the screen. His hair was flat, greasy from countless days without showers, and his face was gaunt, slimmer than normal. His stomach rumbled. He hadn’t eaten since—yesterday? Two days ago? He didn’t know. He didn’t care.

He came back to himself standing on the balcony, hands loose on the railing, wind chilling his skin. He looked out at the road, watching the few cars passing by. He wondered how it would feel if he just…ended it. No more pain, no pressure, no anger. It would all be over.

Patches rubbed against his legs, fur silky smooth against his skin. He dragged his eyes down to her, running a hand over her fur and sinking down to the cold concrete. She curled up in his lap with a meow and he shoved his face into her side, tears leaking from his eyes.

He didn’t want to die, he just wanted it to be back to normal. Before that girl started talking to George, before he even realized he was in love with him, before his feelings. He wanted a break, to sleep and never wake up, to be able to stop the time and fix every little thing in his life that had gone wrong, starting with himself.

He wanted a perfect life, where George loved him back and Sapnap was never angry at him and all their fans appreciated them, where he could be appreciated.

* * *

Dream woke up on the cold concrete, skin pricking. It was still dark from his balcony, and he slipped inside, shutting the door and dropping down to his bed. The clock on his nightstand told him it was 1:28 am. Barely more than 3 hours of sleep. Patches hopped onto his bed. He rubbed her ears affectionately, shame searing through him as he remembered how he’d acted last night.

In the bathroom, he took in his reflection. His hair, normally bright and fluffy, was dull and sweaty, sticking to his forehead. The skin around his eyes was dark and discolored, eyes dull. His lips were chapped, face pale.

He splashed some water on his face and tried to smile at himself, but his face barely moved and he looked like a zombie. Sighing, he smeared concealer around his mouth and added a red blush below his eyes, the makeup old from his emo teenager days. Now he looked like an eboy. 

Patches wound around his legs as he walked down the stairs, and the shtick of her food can opening echoed in the silence. He sat heavily on the couch and sighed. 

Yesterday was a mistake.

It was immensely clear to see now, and that only fueled his own disappointment in himself. The entire situation was handled childishly by him, and he shouldn't have let his emotions control him so well. That was a problem for him—he often found himself overtaken by a need to explain himself or validate himself, but that only manifested in arrogance. There were so many could haves, so many ways he could have done better. Instead he selfishly caused harm and anxiety to his friends. 

He didn't even know what to do now—apologize? Or would Sapnap and George want their space? Did they even want an apology? Maybe they'd gone into a private VC and talked about him. Maybe they hated him now. Maybe they'd exposed him to all their friends, and worst, all their fans. Would either of them do something like that, tell his secrets to their stans? A week ago he'd have said no, but he wasn't so sure now. 

Regardless, it was his fault. Nothing he said now would change the past, and any lies he told would be seen as mindless begging to George and Sapnap. He had to make it up to them somehow. 

* * *

A few hours later he was sitting at his desk, cereal mushy on his desk next to him. Patches was licking her paw delicately behind his second monitor, and cautiously he clicked _Go Live_ on Twitch. It took about two minutes for the people to arrive, and his count skyrocketed from a few thousand to nearly 80,000. 

That...was a bit scary. During his last MCC, he'd peaked at around 130K, and now over half that were watching him at 3 in the morning? Sure, he'd expected some, but only 30 or 40 thousand. He swallowed, watching the chat.

A lot of _"DREAM!!! youre live!"_ s, a lot of _"OMG NO WAY"_ s, a lot of _"YESSSS"_ s. It'd been a while since he'd streamed. Just more pressure to be perfect. His phone vibrated by his cereal, and George's name was by the notification. He swallowed, looked away, and got onto a world for speedrunning.

* * *

George watched Dream's little green character move around in Minecraft, arm bouncing as he ran. Dream sounded fairly fine—yesterday was a bit weird but he figured Dream just didn't want to talk about it. Twitter was unaware of what had happened, thankfully, and saw it all as a joke. 

He didn't really know what Dream meant with the whole situation, and frankly it wasn't really Dream's place to control who he interacted with, especially when George was an adult; older than Dream, in fact! 

He and Sapnap had talked for a while afterwards, mostly summed up to


	2. waves on the beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _dream: i missed you._
> 
> _[the waves rush up on the beach, and the sun falls below the horizon.]_
> 
> _george: why? ive always been here._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alt scenario

The ocean waves were loud in his ears, sand rough on his skin. 

He sat on the beach with his toes in the sand, chin on his knees. His phone was quiet in his hand, and the sun was smeared across the waves.

The sky above him was dark, so dark, and it looked like a welcoming dark, a place he could fix all his problems like a puppeteer playing with strings.

He wanted everything to go correctly for once. He wanted his friends' appreciation, he wanted the casual affection of soft voices and shifting characters, he wanted simple acceptance of who he is by those who mattered most to him. He wanted a false life.

Most of all he wanted George.

George was the sun in his life—a glowing light he revolved around, admired from a distance and could not touch. The miles of ocean that separated them was their infinite galaxy, their computer screens were his telescope in which he admired his radiance.

George blinded him, in his elegance and quiet confidence.

George shattered him, in his giddy laughs and easy understanding after years of friendship.

And—he wanted to be _enough_ for George. Too often had he felt like he let George down; too many times he'd had to apologize for simple-minded quips and remarks and nonsensical actions. George was a perfect character in his mind, and Dream was the over-confident, headstrong archetype. He tried to be enough and was too much.

The beach quieted as people left, and within a few minutes he was alone. All alone. His thoughts came and went with the waves, skin prickling as the air chilled. He couldn't bring himself to move, though.

In the silence he could imagine George here with him, a figure of shadows and starlight taking his hand, laughing in the waves, looking over his shoulder and grinning at him.

 _I miss you_ , he thought. _You could take me to heaven in your heart and keep me there forever._

_You could rewrite the stars and destroy the world and I would still love you._

_Come back to me, George._

_Please._

And like a fantasy, his phone vibrated in his hand.

He took half a second to look at it before answering and putting it to his ear, a deep yearning coursing though him. "George?"

"Dream!"

He let out a slight chuckle. "I—I missed you."

"Why? I've always been here, Dream."

And that—that just made his heart ache in such a bittersweet way. _I've always been here._ He blinked back tears abruptly. "George, you know—you know I love you right?" His voice was rough.

There was a slight pause, and then George huffed. "Yes, Dream, you're a _huge_ simp. Tell me something I didn't know."

"Something you...Alright. You make me feel like I have something to live for, George. You—I think about you all the time, how my life would be if you were here, with me. You're the wings around my heart, you make me feel like I'm falling and flying all at once.

"You, you're like a daydream, you distract me and you make me want to have fun and play around and—and—when I'm with you I just don't want to do anything else."

He didn't feel raw, didn't feel spent. Just—exhausted, in a good way. Like he'd just ran a mile and tried to express a decade of love in a minute.

"Dream—Clay... I. Um, wow. Are you—saying that..?"

He could hear George's smile through the phone, and knew instantly that he could trust him. "Yeah, George. Yeah."

George let out a slight huff of laughter, and Dream _knew_ he was blushing. A smile grew on his face as well, stars glittering across the waves.

"I...love you, Dream."

"Can you. With my name?"

The pause was longer this time, but he still answered. 

"...I love you, Clay."

He wanted to cry, hearing that. "Aw, Georgie, I love you too. I—I love you so much, you don't even know," he gasped, chest tight. And he knew George could hear the emotions in his voice, but he didn't care. "You—I want to spend a million years with you because you make me feel like it's worth it. Like I'm worth it. I love you, George. I love you."

"Dreeeeaaaam," George laughed, drawing out the vowels. There was a bit of shuffling, and then George's voice back again. "I, _hah_ , I love you too, you stupid simp. I love you."


End file.
